


Good Tidings

by blogyourfeelings



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Sherlock Being an Idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2811902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blogyourfeelings/pseuds/blogyourfeelings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlets exclusively involving Sherlolly and Christmas. Pure fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock sodding Holmes!"

A smirk and pair of faux innocent wide eyes meet her furious gaze. "Good evening Molly."

"Don't you _good evening_ me, you git," she fumes, cheeks reddened by the blistering winter cold and her current infuriation. Molly slams the item- the one she's been furiously clutching ever since it came in to her possession- onto his desk with a dramatic flair. Sherlock merely sighs, closes his laptop, and peers up at her expectantly.

Eventually, the staring contest wanes at Molly's usual calm temperament. "Explain."

"Explain what?" Sherlock blinks up at her, before looking down to his desk. "It's a Christmas card. You've seen plenty before. Nothing to explain."

"A Christmas card given to Mike Stamford," Molly begins, grabbing the glittering, cheery card, ripping open to show Sherlock the scrawled writing inside. "Love from Molly _and Sherlock_ ," Molly says, eyes blazing into Sherlock's blank expression. "This is your writing, is it not?"

"Correct," Sherlock responds causally. "Though I do believe I imitated your writing style quite accurately. In John and Mary's card I wrote a terrible festive pun that you would find quite amusing, I think."

"Sherlock," Molly growls. "How many of these did you send?"

"One to everyone of importance in our lives. I nicked your address book the other night when I was in your flat."

Molly can imagine the calls she's going to get from her closest girlfriends when these cards reach their destination. They're all going to think she's lost her marbles and that she's fooled herself in to believing her long term unrequited love and her are in a relationship.

"Is this joke?" Molly demands, her nails digging crescent moons into her palm. There's a pain blooming in her chest, thinking of them all laughing at the thought of her and Sherlock together. Side by side in stark, painful black writing.

"A joke?" Sherlock echoes, perplexed.

"This is cruel, even for you," she spits, and she cannot bare to look at his face. Her, Sherlock and Christmas never have went well. Always ends in tears and somehow they're always hers. Always.

"If I upset you, I apologize. It wasn't my intention- "

"What was your intention, Sherlock?" she laughs, but its bitter and broken and all the things Molly Hooper isn't. "Everyone is going to think I've gone mad."

Sherlock stands, appearing positively affronted. "Why on earth would they think that?"

"Because couples send Christmas cards to people," Molly exclaims, exasperated by Sherlock's blatant ignorance of social norms. "And we are not a couple."

Sherlock's eyes darken and he lowers himself back onto his desk chair. His eyes fall back on the card, a strange sadness in his gaze and lips thinning into a frown. "I see."

His sorrow fills her with confusion. He couldn't possibly think... "We're not a couple..." she repeats, though this time it's more of a question than a statement. The last few months play in her mind; shared coffees, and celebratory 'case finished' meals, Sherlock's warm chuckle in her ear as they watch telly, almost kisses and tension she convinced herself were only her overactive imagination. "Are we?"

Sherlock shifts in his seat, cheeks dotting pink with embarrassment. "I presumed, given the amount of time we spend together, that was obvious."

"Friends spend together, Sherlock," she says gently, shifting closer to him, her words and movement are ever so careful.

The consulting detective laughs softly, rubbing a large hand over the back of his neck as he glances up at her shyly. "I assure you my feelings towards you go far beyond friendship, Molly."

Molly feels her angry thaw. "Oh. I didn't- you mean- when did-" Her mouth struggles to string together even the simplest of sentences. To the point where silence seems the best option to save herself from humiliation.

"Over the past few months our relationship has progressed quite nicely. Obviously, I should have expressed my feelings physically as well, though in my defense, I was waiting for a sign from you that you desired a sexual relationship," he tells her, the words almost clinical, but the sentiment behind it seems far from it.

"So we've been in a relationship for months... I just wasn't aware of it."

"Exactly."

"So we're a couple?"

"Yes."

She mulls over that concept; them, Sherlock and Molly, together. It fits. God, sometimes she wished it didn't, but it does. After a moment she leans an arm on the desk, edging her face closer to Sherlock's, her pink lips tilting up into a seductive smile. "Tell me more about these physical feelings you mentioned."

Sherlock smirks, lifting himself up to tower over her, eyeing her like predator would his prey. An arm snakes around her waist, pulling her so their bodies aline perfectly. "Better I show you," he says in a low voice, his head descending so his lips can claim hers, tasting and exploring, expressing everything their words cannot.

Their breathing becomes heavy pants, suit jacket and coat hitting the ground in a frantic attempt to seek skin and it frightens Molly how utterly right this feels. Just them. Just Sherlock and Molly.

"Sherlock?"

His feet stop their mission to reach his bedroom and his lips pause their voyage down the flush of her neck. "What?"

She laughs at his disgruntled tone, tugging him to his bedroom, where she plans to stay for the foreseeable future. Her lips place a loving kiss onto his, her dimples appearing when he groans as she pulls away. Stroking his cheek, she smiles cheekily and says, "Next year, _I'm_ writing the Christmas cards."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Christmas Sherlolly fluff, because can you ever get enough of it? I certainly can't.

221B is eerily quiet when Sherlock finally arrives home- especially considering when he'd left earlier it'd been packed with an array of people, festive music drowned out only by raucous laughter.

With trepidation, he was forced to leave the buzz of Baker Street after Lestrade had received an urgent call about a particularly brutal double murder in central London. Even at Christmas, the criminal underbelly of London doesn't stop to take a break.

"It's all right. Go with Greg," Molly reassured when she notes signs of hesitation on Sherlock's face. Her red lips tilted into a wry smile.

"Mrs Hudson is another brandy away from needing to be carried back downstairs," Sherlock said, eyes flicking across to the couch, which a tipsy Mary and Mrs Hudson occupy, both blearily eyed and giggling. "I can hardly leave you behind to deal with that, especially in your condition." 

Molly laughed, stroking at Sherlock's warm cheek."Go," she insisted, her playful smile and open eyes expressing how sincere she's being. This not a test; offering him a choice, only to be angry if he should choose to go, but genuine encouragement. "We'll be fine. Go solve a crime."

Sherlock then stood, suddenly aware of John's milling at the kitchen door, ready and awaiting orders to follow Greg to the crime-scene. 

"Appears we have a crime to solve, John," Sherlock announced, and after a nod and grin from Mary, John set out to grab his coat.

Sherlock quickly donned his coat and scarf in record time, desperate to get to the scene so he can return to Molly as soon as possible. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he told her, his head descending to place a goodbye kiss on her lips and then a final sweet peck on her forehead.

"We'll be fine, I swear. Go, Greg's waiting," she said, pulling away and fiddling with the red bow in her hair that perfectly matches her dress.

"I adore you," he said, quiet and wondrous. How he ended up with this woman, how he'd found a woman who understands him and his work, who loves him despite his many, many faults, still remains a complete mystery to him. He lets her know that as much as he possibly can.

 "I know, I know. I love you too," she responded, a triumphant grin firmly in place. Her pale skin glowed as the flashing lights of their tree danced across her face. A hand pushed at his shoulder gently. "Now go."

The murder scene is a gory, bloody picture that contrasts so painfully with the atmosphere back at Baker Street. Luckily, the murderer was as sloppy as he was violent and Sherlock soon finds signs of his identity.

"It was the next door neighbour," he whispers softly in Molly's ear as he finally creeps into their bed in the early hours of Christmas morning.

Molly hums into her pillow as Sherlock nuzzles into her neck and inhales the sweet scent she has embedded into the sheets."Well, aren't we lucky our neighbour is an old lady who wouldn't hurt a fly?

"Hmm. Quite. Speaking of Mrs Hudson, how did you manage to get her back down those stairs?" Sherlock asks, his voice low and hypnotic.

"Mary helped," Molly says. "After you left, she had a few more brandies and offered to teach the pair of us how to exotic dance. Think I might take her up on it."

A barked laugh echoes off the walls of their bedroom. "A few more and perhaps she would have given you a demonstration."

Sherlock can feel the rise and fall of Molly's chest as she giggles. "Well I'll be needing all the exercise I can get once the babies come. I've put on two and a half stone already."

"Two stone, 9 pounds to be exact," Sherlock informs her, shifting down to kiss her large stomach. He often did it when they were wrapped in the confines of their bed, when he would enjoy talking for hours and hours to his unborn children. About cases and experiments and all wonderful things he planned to teach them.

"I've eaten more in the past six months than I have in my entire life," Molly jokes, rubbing one hand over her swollen belly. "Hungry little rascals."

Sherlock snatches Molly's hand in his own, caressing the back of her hand as they rest their conjoined hands on Molly's bump. "How have they been tonight?"

"Restless."

"They've probably inherited your enthusiasm for Christmas."

"Well better that than a Grinch like you," Molly teases, tugging her fingers through Sherlock curls.

A moment of silence passes comfortably between them. "Molly?" Sherlock prompts, breaking the pause in conversation.

"Hmmm?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

Sherlock hesitates momentarily, because there were plethora of reasons to thank this woman. "For earlier. For understanding and letting me go solve the case. For..., well, being you."

"No need to thank me. Those people needed you tonight. More than me."

His head ascends from her stomach to her lips, leaving a lingering kiss on her mouth. "I adore you, Molly Holmes."

Sherlock feels Molly's nose scrunch. "Hooper-Holmes," she corrects, smacking another loving kiss on his waiting lips.

"Merry Christmas, Molly _Hooper_ Holmes."

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock."


End file.
